Here is a picture of Veronica from This Gun for Hire, co-staring Alan Ladd. Enjoy the picture and then read about the hospital visit, given from the point of view of an unimportant character in an old crime movie.
We walked into the joint through a torrential downpour. My forehead felt like it was Niagra Falls. My two associates, a man and a woman, went to confirm the appointment with one of the henchmen who keep out the riffraff, meaning those who can't pay to play. This particular henchman was a dame. She called me over from her seat behind a desk covered in a pale wood veneer. It was the desk that was covered, not the dame; her veneer was kind, and attractive, but not remarkably so. I could tell that she liked me; she asked me for my phone number, and she wrote it down; so I could see she was serious. She sent us up to the next floor. We were going places.
There were stairs, but we took the elevator. My associates moved a little slowly, but we got to our destination. Only, the thing was, it wasn't supposed to be our destination. We were allowed to wait there until the new henchman, a tall drink of water with unshaven facial hair that resembled the growth in the bottom of an old garbage can, told my associates that they could proceed to another chamber for their appointment.
It struck me as sort of suspicious that my associates could go on without me. I suspected a trap. Then I realized that the dame downstairs with my number might want me somewhere that I could take her call. So I waited. I filled the time writing the remnant of a chapter on my noir novel...and I must say that it was fabulous; I did real good.
Eventually, one of my associates, an older gentleman whose handsome blue eyes still delighted women of all ages, returned with news. We were to wait. So we waited while the skirt who was in charge of our operation got down to the business of spilling her guts to some special investigator. After a few hours, the flunky with the garbage-can-facial-hair informed us that we would now be privileged to wait...at the other end of this very same room where the investigator could tell us how the deal went. I tell ya, we was overjoyed with anticipation.
The specialist arrived after we had put in some more quality time cooling our heels. This guy was nobody's lackey. He told us how it was, and brought the pictures to back up his story. It was okay. He told us that after we waited another couple hours, the babe would be at another place where we could see her. Well, naturally, we was excited to hear that.
Finally, fungus-face announced that our doll was getting her own room, and we could go up to behold her with our own eyes. We took the lift up, and, after some debate about directions, we chose correctly. The gal at the desk seemed surprised to see us. She had no idea that our doll was being set up in a room on her floor. Needless to say, the privilege of waiting for further information was extended to us again. The administrative wheels in that joint suddenly began to turn at a breakneck creep. So we waited some more.
Just when we was about to give up all hope, they wheeled our doll in like some exotic sultana on her own recliner. She refused to speak to us for a while. So we waited till she felt like making conversation. I guess the investigator had twisted her arm a bit to get her to give everything up, but she had. She was pretty sore over the whole matter, but she got the deal that she had insisted on for all of us. None of us were going to go to the slammer, and she would be allowed to return home the next day with no stain on her record, if all of her information checked out. So it was fabulous.
What I can't believe is...that that dame who took my number never did call me.
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