"The Right Man" is a crime/detective fiction short story.

            “Sally Mae,” I tried to say her name as gently as possible, as if my voice could break that beautiful and fragile name of hers. “Where is it?” She knew exactly what “it” was. Tears began to well up in her eyes. There was no hiding her fear now.

            I moved my hand up and stroked her cheek. I was afraid that it was too ballsy of a move to do after revealing that the gun in my pocket was mine. Sally Mae didn’t reject my hand; she moved her cheek deep into my palm. I wiped away her tears and looked into her eyes. Her tears made them sparkle like brilliant emeralds.

            “I know you hardly know me, Sally Mae. But what I’m about to say is the truth. It sounds incredible, and that’s because it is. But I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Sally Mae?” I held my breath. She was motionless. Eventually, her head gave a slight nod, and then she focused her big green eyes on me.

            For the next hour, I explained everything that had happened to me from the City Tavern, to the morning I met her, up until that very afternoon. Sally Mae hung on every word. I was afraid it would be too much information for her to take in. I was afraid she wasn’t going to believe me. But if I ever wanted the hope of seeing Sally Mae West again, she had to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. When I finished, she didn’t say anything. She sat there for a second, and then got up from the bed. She walked into the other room, and came back a few seconds later, holding Tomas’s snub-nose in her hands. She put it in my hands and looked at me.

            “I think you’re going to need this.” She managed to give me a weak smile amidst her tears. I couldn’t help but laugh. Once I started, she began to laugh to. I pulled her close to me and looked into her big green eyes; they looked back up at me. She stopped laughing and moved her lips towards mine. She ran her hands through my hair and pulled me down into the bed. Thank God for Sally Mae West.

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  • Sam Clemens on May 1, 2010

    If Raymond Chandler had been born one hundred years later, this is what he would have written. A very well done piece.

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