She looked like a 1930’s gun moll. Sitting alone in the bar like that.
Smoking her cigarette.

Or rather she looked like a 1930’s era actress playing a gun moll.
Tough, sexy, sophisticated. Smarter than all the stiffs she hung
around. That kind of thing.

I had to laugh. She probably never heard of a ‘Gun Moll’. I could just
see myself walking up to her and saying, ‘Anyone ever tell you you
look like a gun moll?’ It was a stupid line anyway but she’d probably
think I called her a ‘Gun Mall’. Like a place to buy guns.

Leave it to me to fuck up a fantasy. As if I had the balls to try and
pick her up. She’d eat me alive.

I couldn’t help but look over at her every few seconds. Trying to
drink in her aura. She didn’t mind. She was used to guys staring at
her.

Something about her eyes gave her a cynical look. Someone who knows
the price of everything and the value of nothing-that’s a cynic. But
our gun moll seemed to know the price of everything and it’s value
both. So I guess that made her a realist. Which is to say she didn’t
see anything much in life to get overly excited about one way or the
other.

I’m a practical guy. I take what I can get. The chances of me picking
her up were nil but I wouldn’t mind getting a closer look. I could buy
her a drink. I didn’t even have to say anything just take a drink over
and set it down. What’s the worst that could happen? What’s she gonna
do pull a gun out of her purse and shoot me?

So I did. As I walked over I could see she wasn’t as tough as I
thought. I don’t know what gave it away but I could see. It was more
like she hung around a tough crowd and acted tougher than she was to
get along. To not get taken advantage of. Like it rubbed off but that
wasn’t really her. She wasn’t that hard.

I set the drink down. I figured the most I could hope for was a
‘Thanks, now scram.’. That would be cool. Better yet: if she held my
gaze for half a heartbeat and blew smoke my way (preferable a
smoke-ring, preferable a perfect circle) and waved me away with the
back of her hand.

For some reason that seemed to me like the perfect B-movie setup.
Something I could keep in my memory and conjure up at odd moments. I
guess that makes me a kind of failed romantic.

“I bought you a drink.” I said. I was planning to keep my mouth shut
but I felt like I had to say something.

She gave me a look that held complete boredom and zero interest and
said nothing. She picked up the drink and looked away from me. I was
dismissed.

I walked away feeling pretty good about myself. A lot of guys wouldn’t
have had the nerve to even approach her. So what if I didn’t pick her
up? What I’d really wanted, I guess, was to see her in action. Even if
the action was just blowing me off.

She walked out soon after. I had another drink at the bar and left not
long after that myself.

She was standing next to my car in the lot.

“You waiting for someone?” I asked.

“You.”

“ME?”

“Yeah. This is your car isn’t it?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“It’s the only 20 year old Volvo in the lot.” She said. “Must have a
couple hundred thousand miles on it. Let’s get in. I’ll bet it still
runs like a top.”

We got in and sat there. She kicked off her heels and put her feet on
my lap. Her back leaning against the door.

“You can rub my feet if you’d like.” She said, and paused. I froze.
“Or not… but for gosh sakes quit strangling the poor steering wheel.
What’d it ever do to you? Relax.”

I let go of the wheel and let my hands fall across her shins. I slid
one up her leg and palmed her kneecap. The other cupped the sole of
her foot. I was becoming more relaxed. She made it easy.

“Hmm, getting a little excited now I feel, eh?” She rubbed the edge of
her foot against me. Feeling my cock get hard.

I just sat staring there at her. Not believing my eyes. My mind was
toast.

“Don’t get too eager, sweetheart.” She cautioned. “I’m not gonna jump
you’re bones or anything. I just like your style. You came over to me
even though you were obviously scared. That took some guts. You didn’t
panic. You took your lumps and left without making an ass of yourself.
That puts you ahead of about 99.9 percent of the male population.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Your welcome.” She looked at me for a light. Holding up a cigarette.
I didn’t have a lighter in the car. I don’t smoke.

“I don’t have a light.” I said, holding my empty hands up as proof.

“Reach my purse and grab my lighter.”

I reached across her and grabbed her handbag off the floor. Damn it
was heavy. I fished around and found the lighter— and a gun. She had
a pistol in there.

“Expecting trouble?” I asked as I lit her cig. I felt like a psychic,
She was a gun moll.

“Oh, I’ve got trouble. I’m just not sure how much yet. I was hoping to
meet some people and straighten things out tonight. They didn’t show.”

“Not yet, you mean. That’s why we’re sitting here, right? Keeping an
eye on things?”

“Sure. But my car’s right over there. The BMW. I could be waiting
there if I wanted. If you’re thinking I’m using you or something. I
think you’re an interesting kid. I thought we could hang out and keep
each other company while I sort things out.”

“Two birds with one stone?”

“Yeah, you could say that. But I really do like you. If you sat where
I do every night with guys coming up and hitting on you — all kinds
— geeks, creeps, rich, poor, ugly, handsome— you name it, all
shapes and sizes and every one an asshole right on down the line— if
you saw what I do then you’d understand what a rare kind of guy you
are.”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Would I be sitting out here with you if it wasn’t?”
She looked straight at me when she said it. I believed her.

“Why didn’t you let me sit down?”

“I didn’t stop you.”

“Yeah you did.”

She thought it over a moment, “I guess you’re right.” She took a drag
on her cigarette. “The thing is I didn’t know until you walked away
that you were really alright. Such is life. I guess that’s why I’m
always going out with assholes. They keep coming at you till they wear
you down and you end up going out with one of them by default—-just
to shut them up.”

Call me confused if you like but it sounded to me like I had a shot at
going out with her. That made me smile.

“Jeezus!” She slunked down in the car. “Now I see why they didn’t
show.” She was watching a couple of thugs enter the bar. “The
bastards! They knew it was a setup and they didn’t tell me.”

“The people you were supposed to meet?”

“Yeah. These guys here aren’t Boy Scouts they’re mob muscle. The
people I was meeting —friends, I thought— must’ve got wind of this
and laid low. Jeezus! They probably set it up. I’m fucked.”

By now she was crouched down on the floor peering over the dash.

“Let’s get out of here.” She said as soon as the mob guys were inside.

“What about your car?”

“Leave it.” She said. “Just get the hell out of here. NOW.”