Fiction, Noir
Date Published: December 8, 2020
An incompetent thief makes another attempt at burglary. A hopeless bartender struggles to manage her last patron. The pair reluctantly work together to figure out why a man they presumed dead may have returned, while a lonely tourist inadvertently gets in the way.
Berlin
His steps were careful, and his comfort with darkness allowed him the typical
confidence to succeed without a trace. He made his way across the room to the
large ornate mirror hanging above an oak cabinet. Lifting the constraining ski
mask, he examined his new moustache still coming in. He had decided a while ago
that he wanted a distinguished look, and concluded that a moustache should do
the trick.
The soft moonlight was not bright enough at
this end of the room. To allow him a better examination of his facial hair, he
turned on his mini flashlight and shined it onto his face. The moustache was
coming in nicely, not too thick, and shaped just perfectly. He looked at the
rest of his face, which he tended to do when in front of a mirror – he just
couldn’t help himself. He noticed that the lighting, positioned as it was at
that moment, accentuated his handsome features. Realizing he had distracted
himself again, he quickly turned off the flashlight to get back to the matter
at hand.
Did he have to put the ski mask back on? What
was the point of it? He knew no one was going to see him. And besides, if he
was to get spotted on the street or by some neighbor, he thought a black ski
mask would definitely call attention to him. He decided it wasn’t necessary and
kept the ski mask up away from his face. This way, it was easier to make his
way around the room.
He was dressed in all black: a tight black
shirt with long sleeves and tight, yet flexible, black pants, allowing him
agility for climbing over the balcony. His shoes were made of flexible black
canvas with black rubber sole. He had perfected this outfit over the years. Wait, he thought to himself. What is that?
He shined the mini flashlight on his shirt. “Is that a fuckin’ stain?” he
mumbled as he rubbed the white drop. “Where the hell–?” He remembered. “Fuckin’
bird.”
His gloves were also tight, but their leather
made it more difficult to handle objects. He hadn’t been able to find his
favorite neoprene pair with the metallic tips, which allowed him to use touch
screens. Where the fuck had he misplaced those damn gloves? Damn!
He just remembered. They were in the side pocket of his travel bag in the extra
closet in his new apartment. The travel bag! That’s where the
other lighter is too! Flashlight off. He finally turned away from the
mirror, aggressively shoving the light back into his small black shoulder
sling.
He made his way around the room and took note
of the furniture. It was laid out almost exactly as it had been described to
him. Bam! He stubbed his left toe on the metal leg of a marble top coffee
table. “What the fuck?” he whispered as he lifted his leg and grabbed his toe.
It was instinct. That’s what one does when one’s toe throbs with pain, right?
He felt himself fall forward. He tried regaining his balance, but it was too
late. Crash! A lamp fell to the floor. It had to have been made of metal
because it fell with a multitude of crashes. He fell along with it, but managed
to land onto the plush floral sofa. He let go of his leg, realizing he had to
get the hell out of there. The floorboards in the ceiling creaked. They were
up. The light upstairs had been turned on, illuminating the stairway to the
foyer. “Shit.” He sprang from the sofa, stepped through the curtains and
climbed out of the window from which he had entered.
About the Author
Lorenzo Petruzziello is the author of The Love Fool and a contributing writer to publications focusing on food, travel and cocktails. A Mistake Incomplete is his second novel.
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