Part 22 - Goldi : Reaching for the Star
A starlet. It’s all I’d wanted to be. Taste the good life. Rub elbows with mooks, just not the mooks from Smiley’s festering follies. Mooks with money and means.
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A starlet. It’s all I’d wanted to be. Taste the good life. Rub elbows with mooks, just not the mooks from Smiley’s festering follies. Mooks with money and means.
Her eyes never left the window, and mine never left her. How she didn’t see me. How she didn’t sense my presence. She was lost in her own world. Nothing around her registered. What she saw in the glass, I couldn’t say. But I watched her from my perch on the L, and I could see it — the night itself looking back at her.
A starlet. It’s all I’d wanted to be. Taste the good life. Rub elbows with mooks, just not the mooks from Smiley’s festering follies. Mooks with money and means.
No whispers from the Giant. No words. Not once. I’d never heard the creature speak, his lips forever sealed by the Russian. The Giant spoke with action. Not a wince. Not a scowl. Not a grunt or curse or huff. Grace. That was the word I needed. That man was Mount Everest, a snow-capped murderer of adventurous, foolhardy men. But the way he moved. A cat. You never heard him coming before you were laying on the floor, six shattered vertebrae, your eyes riveted on the frail, graying figure in the dark coat, his mix of Russian and English detailing your ultimate demise.