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• FRIDAY

Prologue: There are all the days of the week - and then there is Friday.

The Days are just the days. The weekend is just Saturday and Sunday.

But Friday?

Friday is SPECIAL

She Is Trouble. She exudes that Sinister Allure of Elegance In Shadows.
“Relax And Tell Me Everything”, she whispers. Passing me my scotch - and lighting one of her Cohiba cigarillos.
Her Fatal Fragrance lingers around her sharp Silhouette Of Sin.

Is This True Love? (A Forbidden Thought).

Later, There in the Shadows Of Desire will lie all the Smoldering Secrets that remain after the Lips Of Deception, having spread their Tales Of Temptation, have departed. Leaving the Embers Of Seduction after a fire of Ardent Night.

With her, the Naked Truth be told, she's not so much a Dame Of Deception, as Tangled In Secrets that might get you killed.

After your own Hollow Promises, you feel a Glimmer Of Guilt ... ??

She is Not So Innocent After All

Finally she locks her helmet on and plugs the helmet jack into plasma rifle.
Flicking the targeting lens-patch down over her right eye, she murmurs huskily
“Ciao, Sugar!”

Back at the Dead-End Detective Office,
I pour a double Midnight Confidential and watch the
Neon Reflections swirl through the Smoke Filled Room of Undercover Blues.
It’s Still Raining Outside

This is A Weird One. Friday had Left A Note
I had thought it was “Case Closed”. But. . .

“It’s Just Business, Darling”, X

But after Friday's little round of mayhem at The Stakeout, The Informant’s Tale had now become a Dead End
- and he himself had become The Silent Witness - and could reveal nothing. Any More.

She was The Perfect Crime Wave. A Questionable Alibi - but, The Perfect Crime. It would become One Of Those Unsolved Cases -
While Friday's Silent Footsteps left a bloody trail of The Usual Suspects.

Still! Gotta Pay The Rent For This Place Somehow.

So now I am going to be The Inside Man, Stuck on The Case.
Friday's note said:
“Meet Me At The Corner Of Rain and Shadow. XXX”

- - - - - - - -

The Velvet Vendetta

I met my Nocturnal Nemesis at the “Whiskey and Gunpowder Club” and we had a few rounds of scotch.
In the jazz and smoke we were just Shadows In The Fog. Friday was in a jolly mood. She delivered her standard “The Detective’s Soliloquy” story -
told in a flat, monotone. Just like the voice-over narration in those hard-boiled detective movies.

There were the usual Echos Of Betrayal, a Mystery In Blue, some Fatal Fascination followed by the inevitable attempt to effect an Eclipse Of Evidence.
Ending with the Suspect’s Dance in a blaze of charged electrons.
But not before Friday had managed to beat a confession out of him.
And all three of his accomplices.

“Its a Killing Joke!”,  she laughed. “They just HAD TO Fuck Around and Find Out! So, (cutely - sip of her whiskey) I showed them”.

And that was the moment that the “Whiskey and Gunpowder Club” turned into another Crime Scene.
The band had just started playing “The Black Cat’s Ballad”, and Friday had just put on her Cloak
and Revolver when some big guy lunged for Friday's gun.

Friday shot him.
That is when the Bar Fight started.
So much for our Midnight Alibi.

We were not about to Get Framed for that idiot's Sinister Swing.
And made all haste out of there in the ensuing confusion.
Turns out that he was the Fourth Accomplice - who had not been beaten to a pulp - and had tailed Friday to this club.

- - - - - - - -

The Perils Of Existence

So here we are on the run. At least we are on The Upside Of Down.
I aim the Lagonda's nose into the traffic and immediately - all the traffic slows to a stop, and quickly slides into reverse.
Oh Well - Like Murphy’s Law says: “It Can Always Get Worse”.
The trick is just not to be "there" when lightning strikes.

“Don’t Do It, Frank”, Friday had said to me just before I lit the bar on fire - on the way out. But I could not resist.
I could see the glow in the rear view mirror. I could hear fire engine sirens.

“Enough of The Shit Show”, Friday muttered, lighting her Cohiba cigarillo.
“Plan-B Time!”

And I can hear the high pitched squeal of the rifle charger climbing to its Max.

“You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me!”I exclaim, thinking: “Poor Choice of Words” as they left my mouth.

“Just Roll With It”, Friday says in her sexy purr thrrough the cigarillo in the corner of her mouth - turning gracefully in her seat.
The electrodes of the electron rifle shwing by just millimettres from my face.
“Embrace The Chaos, my Love”, she whispers to me / her gun / herself. . .?
“Bend - - -”, Friday purrs quietly to herself, leaning across my shoulder as she takes aim . . .

There is a loud electric crack!
“... But Don’t Break”, she finishes off - with an innocent giggle - sitting back in her seat.
The air is acrid with electric high voltage discharge.

Into which she exhales a puff of cigarrillo smoke.
All of which gets sucked out through the new hole in the rear window of the Lagonda.

In the mirror I can see a fireball erupting on the freeway.
“I’ve Read A Book About This Problem”, Friday announces.
“Just Improvise. Dance In The Rain, Jump In The Pool. So What?!”

She plants a big hot kiss on my mouth - oblivious of the fact that her head is blocking my view of the road.

“The Universe Is Smiling, Not Laughing. This has been The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck. Dance Anyway and make your OWN Silver Lining”

“Follow That Star!”
I can already tell - this is going to be another

>> Friday Night Special