Pearl Collar

Bloody pearl necklace adorning her neck and a Colt M1911 clutching in her right hand. The speakeasy was bolstered with crowded voices and cigar smoke. The floor was littered with sequins and feathers, mostly white and wine red. A singular woman, Rhonda Wagnar, took heavy steps towards the center table. Her heart pounded against her ribs, vibrating in her sternum.

Gripping a cigarette holder, she swiftly grabbed a cigarillo and a couple packs of cigarettes from the bar, mumbling something about keeping her tab open. Cladded in a sparkling black gown that was sleeveless and fringed from the thigh down to her shins. The dress glinted in the low light, smoke curling around her alluring figure as she stood center in front of a man. Russell Rossi. Possibly the most influential man in all of Chicago.

Sitting as the current head of the Rossi family, he controlled nearly everything in the city. Politics? He had the mayor in the palm of his hand with a few incriminating details of adultery and drug use. Law? Russell paid off more and more officers on the daily because he offered a better salary. Business? The Rossi family had their greedy, greasy appendages in every business imaginable in the city: delis, grocers, contractors, real estate, you name it, the Rossi's have a connection.

And Rhonda? She was his right hand. His dirty little secret while his wife sat pretty with her diamond ring and perfect little sons. While she was busy with 'domestic matters,' Rhonda bore every violent tendency, every brash comment, every haunting expression, and she also bore every night that Russell was denied by his wife. All for the sake of the Rossis'! Once a man that gave her butterflies and flowers every Sunday, now had her adorned with a firearm and dressed in black. Always in black. She viewed it as a mourning. Seeing her dark attire, waving goodbye to the girl she once was, beaconing into a night goddess that only brought pain and suffering wherever she stepped into.

His frame was stocky and powerful, a man of thirty years old, and yet, his eyes were dancing around and piercing people as if he were thrice that age. His suit was tethered and tailored perfectly to his shape, the fabrics stretching perfectly as he took every deep breath of his tobacco stick. Rhonda gulped, her fingers gripping her cigarette holder tightly. She herself also took a long drag.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Wagnar?" Rossi drawled out, his eyes not even bothering to meet hers.

Her teeth clenched.

"I am not here for pleasure, Mr. Rossi," Bits of smoke flooding out of her mouth as she spoke, red lipstick momentarily blurred from the fog of the cigarette.

"Then what?"

His eyes slightly twitching as he turned towards the young woman, lips pursed as he saw the pistol clutched in her hand. His gaze followed the long trace of her auburn curls, then down the curve of her hips, and back to her eyes.

"He got away,"

Her body moved fast, lurching behind a chair as a tumbler glass was thrown directly at her, the shattering of the glass cuing everyone to evacuate immediately.

"One fucking job!"

Russell's hand coiling through his dark locks harshly, his intense gaze of blue flame hoarding her senses, holding her captive as she froze, hands clamming up and her left knee shaking.

"I'm sor-"

"Pipe down, you stupid woman!"

He stood fully and ate up the distance within three strides, large hand bracing her jaw, grip crushing as she was made to look up at him.

"How could you let him get away?"

His grip tightened momentarily before he threw her face away from him, her neck craning to the side unnaturally but she dare not show pain.

"He must've gotten a tip from that Sheriff on Fifth Avenue, he was riding my tail all night, I don't know!"

Rhonda's voice wavered slightly, a gulp almost choking her as she recovered quickly.

"I don't understand how this could happen. Weeks of planning down the drain all because of your fuck-up!"

His jaw ticking and steps pacing around the table, eyes alight in a murderous sense, arms flailing and pulsating as he made himself a stiff drink. His jacket was thrown askew, landing on the floor, his strong fingers tearing at the buttons of his undershirt, uncaring of appearances now.

"What's this, huh?"

His fingers dragging against her pearls, blood staining on his fingertips.

"I shot the copper when I left the apartment."

"Well, at least you did something right."

Placing her cigarette down, Rhonda took a small piece of cloth out of her stocking band, reaching at her side as she did so. The cloth had ink writing of the officer. Three distinct words.

Rossi. Plan? Chase. Women agents?

Russell's sigh was a living thing as his breathing turned frantic and kindred. Groaning and moaning as he glugged greedily at the whiskey, amber droplets staining his pale skin, glistening a once alluring trail along his collar.

"You better find him, Wagnar, but while you do that, I need to figure how this bull got these ideas,"

Mumbling incoherently, Russell was dismissive of Rhonda, waving his hand at her to leave in a dejected, loose manner.

Both man and woman stepping away from each other, two paths undeniably joint and woven together. The ties that branded the two figures were undeniable and deeper than any body of water. The air was thick with reminiscence just for a brief moment, her muddy eyes softening momentarily before mulling over and returning to their signature seduction of coffee and promise of violence. Tracing the edge of the chair one last time, her feet carried her away.

Rhonda's footsteps were quiet as she reached her Rolls Royce Twenty, her silhouette dancing against the sheen of the metal, the moon reflecting off her and creating an illusion of the night. Cranking the door closed, she released a sigh, chest loosening as her hand rested on the thigh of her passenger. Her eyes flicking to his eagle top badge as his smirk only was widening.

"Did he ask any unnecessary questions, doll?"

"Not one,"

"That's my girl,"

Their lips met feverishly, hot and fueling with the evening's adrenaline. Shifting into gear, Rhonda's lips separated from his as she sped off, her smile widening as they reached city lines, either one refusing to look back. Her fingers gripping the chain of pearls around her neck, rippling and straining against her throat. Her hand clenched briefly before tearing them off, the blood smeared pearls spraying across the road, never to be worn again.