Laura slinks her blue-sequined body across the room to Frank, her unlit cigarette extended.
“Frankie — you don’t mind if I call you Frankie? Frankie, can you give a girl a light?”
“Uh, sure.” Frank fumbles the lighter from his pocket. Laura smiles. “I don’t make you nervous, do I?” She locks eyes, inhales, picks up Frank’s drink. “What are you drinking? Is it tasty?”
Frank doesn’t see Vic or the knife now in his gut. Vic folds Frank into the chair.
Vic whispers, “C’mon, doll, exit stage left.”
Laura finishes Frank’s drink, drops a C-note on the table. “Delicious.”