and the gritty side of the city awakes.
It’s the time of day I like the best in San Francisco,
the time when all the rats and roaches come out of their holes.
The time when all colours fade into grey.

It was on such a night
that trouble walked through my Delancy Street door.
I should have known
the minute I saw those big green eyes
that she was dangerous.
Something in my gut told me to turn her away.
But I let her sit down
and that was the beginning of my demise.

“I’m Hetty,” she said, in a smooth voice that matched her velvet jacket.
“Hetty Langstrom.”
She removed her gloves a finger at a time and crossed her legs.
She was classy, a real highbrow dame.
“I hear you’re the best,” she paused. “And I need the best.”

“Just what are you looking for, m’am?” I asked.

Holding my gaze she answered,
“I killed my husband and I want you to prove I didn’t.”