I smile and nod, and she accepts the rope around her neck, the synching of the knot until it threatens to close her throat. A threat. A promise. A deal. She crawls across the floor behind me, the Tatianas watching the death of hope from their perch on the divan.

If you hadn’t lied and hadn’t stolen money, hadn’t wanted to kill some poor hooker, hadn’t decided to get caught up with some Russian sex-sicko — if you’d just done your job the way you should have, it wouldn’t be this way.

“He’s definitely dirty. And so is his gun.”

If the mirror hadn’t been broken already, I’d have broken it then. I reached up and touched the broken glass where it was splintered as if by a hammer’s blow.

Once the hope of the past is shattered, there can be no hope for the future. Once the future is gone, there is only tranquility.

I never found comfort in sleep anyways. I trudged through the city streets, taking in the sounds of traffic, the smell of cheap meat being cooked by street vendors, and the not-so-fresh air, damp with rain, my conscience berating me with every step. These were times I didn’t like not having close friends, but what would I say to them anyways?

“You’ll don that pretty gold dress you showed up here in that night, you’ll put those black patent leather heels on, and you’ll sing sweet lullabies to those stiffs until they’re eating out of your hand.” Spit flecked on my cheek, and his breath stank of cheap whisky and fish. One of his hands pawed absently at his crotch. “You’ll sing for your supper from now on, Golden Voice.”

There’s something to be said for being drunk all day. I couldn’t remember what it was; it didn’t matter. It was a truth without words. And what else is a suspended cop supposed to do when his life is shit, his job is on hold and his girlfriend is dead?

Yellow eyes are there, staring back at us. We know they’re there. They know we’re here. The wind moans. The shack trembles. Another howl in the quasi-dark. I sit up and listen, and I don’t sleep.

What did she mean she was leaving? She was leaving. Why? She had to go. Had anything happened? Supposedly I knew why, and I could guess well enough, but there seemed to be more, something more that she was leaving out. Was she crying? Was she sad or happy to being going? Where was she going? Could I come with? Vague flashes of memory, like blurs of colors that I couldn’t see. My voice rising to match the steady beat of the DJ’s tunes. My hands hitting the table like I’d hit her face once before.

Two figures stepped out into the alley, shadows nearly swallowing them. They stood near each other, talking in low voices. It happened quickly, unexpectedly. A few words of conversation and bam…knife in, knife out. Let the body hit the floor.

I also never thought I’d end up here, slinging drinks and selling cigs to the absolute lowest lives of this half-town: I was going to be a star. My name is Goldi, after all. Oh, I know — you’ve heard the story, everyone has. But let me tell you something right now: life ain’t no fairy tale.

The thing about Red was that she had a big heart. She had big eyes, too — “the better to see you with,” she said, and everybody laughed. But nobody was ever looking at her eyes. That wasn’t the point. With tits like that, her eye color was never in question, if you know what I mean.

Four people. Four stories. One murder.

Four people. Four stories. One murder.