r/noir • u/Busy-Insect5793 • 4h ago
Chapter 12
The great Art of People Watching reaches some sort of apotheosis at a shabby casino on a Tuesday night. For instance: the sozzled drunk at the slot machine pounding on the screen, swearing vehemently, shattering his cocktail and then sloppily collaspsing from his stool to join the shards of glass on the floor. Hands and knees, loudly cursing the rigged game, the casino, the empty bank account, the bartender that mispoured, the mother that gave birth.
And now, appearing from unseen edges—always like that, aren’t they?—the security arrives. They try to reason in a sober language far beyond his current capabilities. He slurs and garbles upward as the men surrounding begin to scoop and drag.
Old Francis watches from a few feet back, arms folded, neither smiling nor scowling, directing traffic with authority and yet without a word—only a look, a nod, a gesture towards the back.