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June 27, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 27

Today's theme needs to consider the following concept:

Brunettes in red dresses = nothing but trouble.

Film noir, dime-store detective novels, or modern-style fiction...choose your poison.

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Tanya: La robe écarlate

She walked into my office late that night, with a truckload of attitude and a rack to match. Pulled her derringer from her thigh holster, started reloading it, and told me she'd beaten up Max for squealing and bribed the judge to go easy on my client. Just like I asked. What a dame.

Then she slid a pint of chocolate milk and a homemade chicken salad sandwich slowly across the desk. My favorite.

I knew she was trouble the minute I saw her standing at the altar in a red wedding dress. Fortunately, I like that kind of trouble.

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Ted: The Case of the Turkish Eagle

I could tell this one was going to be trouble. They always are when the dress is crimson, the night is rainy, and the girl is brunette.

But I sized up the four mugs hassling her and even through the gin knew she couldn't handle it herself. She could handle lots of things, but not four guys in an alley.

My sap took the first two on the back of the head but the others needed convincing from my .38.

"Who the hell are you?" she said, her accent rich, exotic.

"Toots, I'm just the next man you're gonna blame."

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Michele: Your Kiss Goes Everywhere

Marta ordered drinks - "Something large and hard" - in a breathless whisper and excused herself to the powder room. The bartender raised his eyebrows at me. “Eh, brunettes,” I explained.

Two minutes later shouts rose from the riff-raff in the bar. Maybe we heard a gunshot, maybe we didn't. I just know that right after the ruckus, Marta was seated next to me, excitement in her eyes.

When they finally found the corpse in the bathroom, we knew our welcome had been worn out. We slipped out the back door, leaving some cash and a lipstick-kissed napkin for the bartender.

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