(teaser) 

Olympia
a Short Story

by Anita Dime

Author blog: www.anitadime.com
Twitter: #AnitaDime

Published by
Flatcar6 Studios

Amazon: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-3-8

iPad: Full version of the story may be purchased. ISBN: 978-0-9857136-2-1

Original linocut artwork by Anita Dime

Chapter 1

The Greyhound sign, its white light, caught every curvature of Arrasmith’s Art Deco design. As the motor coach pulled into the station, I watched the glittering light, and it made me feel that I was going places though just arriving – so much ahead. The driver cut the engine, dimming the headlights. The few passengers folded crumpled jackets and straightened skirt hems, exiting with minimal luggage; the night deliveries always seem to travel light.

Last off the bus, I grasped the door railing, adjusted the fingers of my gloves, and spotted a 1935 Studebaker Commander, Jack’s car, across the yard. The driver, obscured in shadow, slowly rolled the car forward, as I approached.

“You’re late,” he gruffed.

“Yeah, love you too, Babe.” The match flared, coloring my cheeks flame-red and my eyes coal-black with a pinprick of light. Smoke possessing me, and instantaneously, the demoness vision dissipated, as I took my first drag. “May-be I should just climb right back on that bus.”

“Get in the car. Nick will get your luggage.” Nick had been sitting on the stacked crates towards the back of the car, watching. He tossed aside his cigarette and tipped his hat back.

“Never mind the luggage,” I said. “There ain’t any, but this small bag here. I figured you’d treat me right, Jack. Buy me a couple rags.”

“Get in.”

This wasn’t the beginning. Me, I’d been his go-between, appearing from out of town for shady weekends and then collected back on a bus to a safe town of nobody knowing for many years now.

I stepped to the passenger side. Nick held open the door, taking my bag. The slight brush of his hand against my fingertips held a moment, sizzling like July sparklers.

“Thanks,” I softened in remembrance and got in. Nick had already taken the back seat. Jack loved his toys, and no way in hell was anyone else gonna drive.

In silence, I’m not certain what I had expected or wanted. “Welcome to New York,” I thought.

As Jack drove off into the dark, he began one of his usuals. “Need you to run a few errands for me like you used to. Nice cut in it then you can afford all those expensive outfits you got on and then some.”

Through the stripes of streetlights, Jack glimpsed my legs and smiled, pleased with himself. “Its good to have you back, Bea. Yes, indeed.”

We approached his bar, a fading red brick building with an ad painted along the side and high arched second story windows. Jack circled to the back alley, and we ascended the metal stairs to his little hide-a-way above. He sat down on the Davenport, picked up his oil cloth, and continued to clean his 32 caliber Imperial marked Mauser, which he had begun this morning.

“Lovely, still playing with your toys,” peeling off my gloves. “How about a drink?”

“Nick, see to that,” his usual directives. Jack laid down his pistol, and left the room, trailing with more mumbled gun talk. I couldn’t make it out–unimportant really, like most his noise.

Nick poured a sidecar. He came at me from behind. Laid the back of his fingers against my neck and followed the curve towards my earlobe. Tilting my head backwards, we kissed --one of those slow familiar kisses that don’t need no dusting no matter how long its been. I swooned into old dreams. With the sudden pressing of the glass into my hand, they were gone. Straight-faced–he moved back towards the bar, stepping into the wallpaper, as Jack reentered the room–just in closing his eyes, he was gone.

“See this, Baby? It’s an Olympia '36–state of the art. It was featured in the Games in August.” He grasped the checkered wooden grip, sliding his oil cloth along the slim elongated barrel. “German.” He aptly disassembled the gun, removing the magazine, pulling down the trigger guard and pulling the slide back, up and off the frame.

“This year’s model. Nice.” I sipped my drink. “How’d you get it?”

“Business associates. You’ll meet them soon. There are some perks.”

I looked to Nick, and he wasn’t there.

Thanks and such

Much thanks to family and friends for supporting my little schemes.
- Rachel for reading roughs
- Kirsten for coffee
- Ted, Mel, Mom, and Bro for love
- Dad always

Author Biography

Anita Dime is a self-published author, who debuted her first noir short in 2012 entitled “Horse Two." This story includes seven original linocuts by the author; depicting scenes of a guy’s luck on and off the horse race track in the mid-1930s.

"Olympia" is her second short.

Look for both of these stories in the podcast Coffee Contrails in June/July of this year.

Author blog: www.anitadime.com
Author email: anita.dime@flatcar6studios.com
Twitter: #AnitaDime
Published by Flatcar6 Studios

Full versions of "Olympia" may be purchased at:

Amazon:  ISBN: 978-0-9857136-3-8

iPad: ISBN: 978-0-9857136-2-1

Original linocut artwork by Anita Dime

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Julia Huff. Anita Dime, pseudonym. All rights reserved.