Free Seattle Noir by Curt Colbert Page B

side of the street. They’re watching her too. Six o’clock for your lady love.
    What does that mean?
    Behind her.
    Two men, about the same age as the lady in green. The tall one had blond hair, was thin, almost gaunt, and vibrated with nervous energy. He wore a red jacket and blue jeans.
    His friend was a head shorter and had dark hair. He walked with his shoulders hunched as if attacked by a wind only he could feel. Both of them were so busy watching the lady in green that they never noticed anyone behind them.
    She’s headed onto Fourth, said Fox. Up into Petey’s no-go zone.
    Petey stumbled to a stop.
    Fine, said Strabo. Let’s round up a bus and ride home. Discretion is the bitter part of valor.
    I’m following them. They’re up to no good.
    What are you now, the freaking cavalry?
    Our Petey is a man of chivalry, said Strabo. A white knight in vanished armor. That calls for a song!

    Oh where are you going, said Milder to Moulder
    Oh we may not tell you, said Festel to Fose
    We’re hunting the wren, said John the Red Nose
    Hunting the wren, said everyone…

    For the love of God, shut up, said Petey. I can’t hear myself think.
    The sounds of silence. Har har.
    You Philistines! That’s a medieval classic. Part of your heritage.
    Yeah, but do you want those creeps across the street to hear you?
    Why are they following her? asked Petey.
    They like to watch Abby’s ass, said Fox. Same as you.
    She’s not Abby. And don’t talk like—Oh crap!
    They were on the Fremont Bridge now and the drawbridge was going up.
    Why the hell is a boat going by at this time of night? asked Petey.
    Probably heading home, said Strabo. Like all sensible people.
    They watched the city lights reflecting off the Ship Canal and the bright blue of the bridge.
    Look over there, said Strabo.
    Off to the right the Aurora Bridge stretched high above them.
    Like a long black spider web, said Strabo.
    Poetry sucks, said Fox.
    Finally the drawbridge dropped into place. They made the long way across.
    Where are they? asked Strabo.
    Crap, said Fox. Take a look behind the zombies.
    I don’t see anyone, said Petey.
    Not the movie stars. Your Abby clone.
    Slow down, said Strabo. Impatient youngsters!
    The woman in green lay on her back behind the zombies, staring up at the sky.
    A goner, said Fox.
    Where are Lerner and Lowe? asked Strabo.
    Who?
    The thrill-killers. I don’t want them coming after me.
    Gone, said Fox. We should be too.
    The woman’s purse lay open on the pavement, leaking its contents, just as her throat had done.
    I’m taking the cell phone, said Fox.
    No! They can trace us with that, said Strabo. Did the scoundrels liberate her wallet?
    Black leather lay in the shadows of a statue. Fox picked it up.
    Address book.
    Why are we still standing here? asked Petey.
    Hell, you’re right. Let’s get up to the woods.
    You’re the hero, dear boy, said Strabo. You should have saved her.
    It’s them.
    Who? asks Fox.
    Whom , says Strabo.
    Widmark and Mineo, goddamnit. Across Fremont, in front of the music store.
    The two stand in front of Dusty Strings. The tall blond bounces to a beat unrelated to the harp music playing through the speakers. His partner’s hands are stuffed deep into his black raincoat.
    You see them? asks Petey.
    Yeah, yeah, says Fox. They’re real.
    But highly improbable, says Strabo. Returning to the scene of the crime?
    You called it for once, old man, says Fox. They’re thrill-killers and this is part of the freaking thrill. They were probably around the corner, watching the cops clean up their mess.
    Screw it, says Petey, and starts across the street.
    Get back here! Are you nuts?
    Sure.
    Petey strolls through traffic without even noticing it. Cars honk, but he ignores them.
    He stops in front of the movie stars. Fox and Strabo are nowhere in sight. Big help, as usual.
    You want something? asks Widmark.
    Why’d you do it?
    They stare at him. He looks back, poker-faced, though he feels like he’s gonna