"She sleeping."

Hardening my voice, I said, "She needs needs to wake up." to wake up."

Leona Suss racewalked into the blue room wearing body-conscious mauve velour sweats, rhinestone-spangled running shoes, and full-metal-jacket makeup. White fingers clamped a cell phone that matched the sweats.

Pale brown eyes zeroed in on mine. The lavender I'd seen last time was a contact-lens invention.

Artificial lashes fluttered like breeding moths.

"Morning, Mrs. Suss," I said.

"What do you think you're doing? I need you to leave."

I rested my hands behind my head.

"Did you hear me?"

Flipping the metal case open, I removed a shiny black laptop, placed it next to me.

"I thought you were a cop."

"Nope."

She said, "Well, I don't care who you are, I'm calling the Beverly Hills Beverly Hills police." police."

She began punching a number on the mauve phone.

I said, "Suit your yourself, Olna."

Her fingers stopped moving. Her chin jutted forward like a switchblade. The phone lowered to her side. "What do you want want?"

"To reminisce."

"About what?"

"Old Hollywood," I said. "Ancient Hollywood."

She recoiled as if slapped. "Don't be rude."

"I didn't mean you," I said. "I just like vintage cinema."

Opening the laptop, I gave her a direct view of the screen.

Out of the case came a cordless mouse that I rested on the lid.

Click.

The screen filled with opening credits. Garish green letters over black. A film t.i.tle.

Guns of Justice.

Leona Suss said, "You need to leave my house at once."

But she made no effort to enforce the command.

I said, "Treat yourself-c'mon, make yourself comfortable."

She remained on her feet. "You have sixty seconds and then I am going to call my my police." police."

Click.

Close-up of a black-haired beauty wearing Hollywood's improbably haute version of cowgirl garb. Rifle in hand. Sneer on glossy lips. "End of the line, Goldie."

Camera shift to manicured fingers around trigger.

Ponderous music.

Then a long shot offering a full view of the brunette standing in front of a log-sided cabin. Obvious matte painting of mountains in the background.

New shot: rear view of two figures facing the femme with the rifle.

Shift to their POV: fresh-faced blond girl, equally pretty white-Stetsoned young man.

He said, "Don't do this, Hattie."

The brunette sneered, "Breathe your last, Rowdy."

The brunette shouldered the rifle.

The blonde screamed.

White Hat quick-drew a six-shooter and fired.

A blossom sprang from the brunette's left breast. A cardiac surgeon couldn't have placed it more accurately.

She looked down at the spreading splotch. Flashed a crooked, oddly engaging smile. Relaxed her fingers.

Dropped the rifle.

Fell to the dirt.

Close-up on beautiful dying face. Murmurs.

"What's that, Hattie?"

"Rowdy...I always...loved you."

The blonde said, "Reckon she's gone now."

White Hat said, "But you're here."

Long, searching look. Longer kiss.

Fade to black.

Leona Suss said, "And the Oscar goes to..."

I said, "It does have a certain charm."

"It's swill, I told you that the first time. Now get the h.e.l.l out."

I clicked the mouse.

Another t.i.tle page.

Pa.s.sion on the Pecos.

Same dark-haired girl, different weapon.

Long-barreled revolver. Her turn to quick-draw.

Bam.

A man dropped from a tree.

Bam.

A man dropped from the roof of a saloon.

Bam.

A man darted from behind a wheelbarrow, managed to fire. Ricochet whistle.

The girl shot him off his feet.

Click.

Saloon interior. A white-bearded geezer put down his whiskey gla.s.s. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that, Miss Polly?"

Across the saloon table, the brunette spun the barrel of her gun, blew at the tip of the weapon. Licked her lips. "Aw, Chappie, it was nothing."

"Sure looked like somethin' to me. Who learned ya?"

Soft, feminine giggle. "A girl does what a girl needs to do."

Shift to swinging saloon doors. White-Stetsoned man with oversized badge on his tailored vest.

The girl sneered, "You!"

"Now, just put that down and go peacefully-"

Bam.

Fade to black.

Leona Suss said, "I'll give you an autograph and we'll call it a day."

Click.

"Enough!" she shouted.

I froze the frame.

The cat trotted in.

"Manfred," she said, "this fool is boring me, go scratch his eyes out."

Manfred sat there.

I said, "Guess he took the no-cruelty pledge at the pound."

"Oh, shut up."

"How about 'Shut up, punk'? One of your best lines, in my opinion. In fact, here it is."

Click.

"You're boring boring me!" me!"

"This one's different," I said.

And it was.

*o moving images. Text.

I recited.

www.iluvnoirflix.comDeath Is My Shadow (1963) Starring Olna Fremont as Mona Gerome Stuart Bretton as Hal Casey Plus an a.s.sortment of eminently forgettable mugs, molls, mopes and miscreants

This is one of those obscure treasures, hard to find but well worth the effort even if it means having to use a VCR (try the reissue lists of sites like blackdeath.net, mollheaven.com, entrywound.net).