It was a night like few others. An aluminum colored fog gripped Fort Stockton like a mother clutching a newborn baby, shrouding the Lucky Lady in a dew as thick on the outside as the mystery taking place on the inside.

Few, if any, of the locals saw the Alpine White Eldorado parked out back. If they had, they’d have wondered to themselves who’d be wealthy enough to drive such a magnificent machine, and yet so foolish to leave the top down in such weather. The tiny red taillights formed a glow in the mist; the amber parking lights situated on the outboard edges of the front bumper shined just enough to illuminate the path leading to the fire escape from the upstairs rooms of the old brick building. 

The chrome Dagmars flanking the grill could have taken their inspiration from the similar shaped orbs dominating the scarlet, plunging neckline dress she’d chosen to wear that night. Of all the frocks in her wardrobe, it was only fitting she’d select the one as crimson as her past and as seductive as her future.

Stepping out from the thick oak door on to the fire escape, she glanced behind her as she slowly pulled it shut. One last glance. Not a “good-bye”, really. More of an “it’s been fun.” The long, supple, black gloves rising up to her elbows and were hand crafted from the softest kid glove leather, nearly as elegant as that of the Eldorado down below. There was a difference between being in a hurry and being rushed and she was not one to be rushed. She reached into the small ebony clutch purse and pulled out a long slender cigar and lit it with a sterling silver lighter engraved with two hearts. Sliding the lighter back in she drew in the first puff, exhaled, and watched it mingle with the fog around her. 

Glancing down at the Cadillac, she couldn’t help but admire what had become one of her favorite toys, not counting the one she’d left inside. The long thin spokes of the chrome 15” Sabre wheels were as dainty as the stilettos on her heels, and nearly as alluring. In the pale glow of the nearly full moon the tan interior almost seemed to be the same shade as the golden mane of hair gathered in a tight knot at the base of her long smooth neck. She had an eye for beautiful things, one more accurate than even the Autronic Eye headlight dimming system that stood erect on the leather covered dash.

She finished the cigar, dropped on to the concrete floor and snubbed it out with the pointed toe of her high heel. Slowly descending the steps, the rustling of the night air blew the billowing folds of the red dress and gave her the appearance of floating down the stairs. Reaching the chrome handle of the driver’s door and pushing the button to get in, she realized it was a metaphor for her lifestyle. Pushing buttons and getting in, wherever she wanted to go.

Turning the key, she listened to the throaty 365 cubic inch V8 rumble and then settle down to a purr. Grasping the delicate gear selector in her gloved hand, she had to admit she had the same effect on men . . . a loud rumble and then a purr.

Sliding the selector into Drive, she reflected on the fact that she’d arrived with the intent to make the scene upstairs look like an accident. In the end, she didn’t have to, it was a heart attack. The very best kind.