Moxie's Time

Moxie's Time

The zealous notes of Jelly Roll Morton's latest jazz come to life from Harold's trumpet in the corner.

Glasses clink, the laughter of her girls floats gaily through the air.

Poker chips slap against, onto and off piles of each other.

Smoke wafts from Havana's finest to hang lazily near the red velvet ceiling.

Glancing in the mirror one last time she sees the blood-red lips, just the shade he always wants to kiss.

Not too much rouge or he'll get angry and call her a tramp.

Eyes smoky and mysterious, though he has long thought he's already ferreted out her secrets.

The hand that reaches up to smooth her cascading hair trembles only slightly.

Check the mirror; Check the clock upon the wall

Those siren lips slide into a seductive smile.

Deep breath in, she pulls back the scarlet curtains leading to the parlor.

All eyes fall upon her; Johnny and his men, his special guests from Chicago, her girls.

Johnny's gaze pins her to the spot above his cards, expression giving away nothing, least of all his hand.

Smile going wider, hips swaying with extra sass, she saunters to the game and sits on his lap.

The girls drape themselves over the men, the furniture, the bar, exactly how she's trained them.

Check the girls; Check the clock upon the wall

Johnny, riding the house with a royal flush, is in a jovial mood tonight.

He jokes with his men, gives her rump a firm squeeze.

Refill his drink, lite him another cigar, she gives her dealer the silent signal to continue her lover's luck.

Laughs at his puns, lets her hand slide up his arm, whispers lewd suggestions in his ear.

Check the game; Check the clock upon the wall

Hands of poker go on, pints of bootleg slide down eager throats.

Senses dull, voices slur, unwary men play the night away within the plush walls of their boss' haven.

Check the special brew now sloshing; Check the clock upon the wall

Johnny doesn't notice; his luck is running high.

Check the time, now's the time; Check the clock upon the wall

The doors burst open, men rush in with guns held high; she and the girls hit the floor on cue.

Harold, the dealers and the bartender disappear behind the bar as instructed.

Check that the girls' heads are down; Check the clock upon the wall

Shouts an angry blur, guns exploding, bullets whizzing above her head.

Men stumbling, chairs crashing, hands fumbling for defense. Too late, too surprised.

Glass shatters, wood splinters, music and laughter gone.

Johnny hits the floor beside her, eyes rolling back into his head.

Check the nearest women; Check the clock upon the wall

How long has it been going on? To her it seems an eternity.

But as quickly as it came all is still, all seems silent.

The ringing in her ears gradually subsides, replaced with the tense, ragged breathing of her girls.

She recognizes the own rapid beating of her heart, lungs feeling about to burst for air.

She lifts her head to scan the room. They're all okay, they're all alive.

The smoke of gunpowder hangs in the air, replacing that of cigars.

Check Johnny's pulse; Check the clock upon the wall

A hand reaches down to her level. Her gaze travels up to the man.

She lets him pull her up to her feet; she sways, he steadies her by the shoulders.

The badge glints against his lapel, concern reflects within his eyes.

"You've done well, Kid."

"Johnny's reign of terror is done, we got half of Chicago's thugs too, thanks to you."

Men in suits move about the room, handcuffing, rounding up what's left of Johnny's gang.

She pulls in a deep breath before the nerves take over; she violently begins to shake.

All is safe, pain is gone. Johnny's gone for good.

Check her luck, for once in her favor; Check the clock upon the wall.

Word Count: 664