Event production by
Random Magic Tour
Sasha Soren (Random Magic)
Schedule of events
Nov. 10-17, 2011
the velvet glove stands beside the black sedan parked in Osgood alley.
you wouldn't know it.
all clad in black, the moonlight reveals a bit of shine from his slicked back pomaded hair.
the flash from his lighter briefly illuminates a mocha skinned face with a cig dangling from a mouth.
the velvet glove has compiled more glimpses of his fellow henchmen in lit noir...
by Raymond Chandler
The door opened and a hard-eyed Filipino in a white coat curled his lip at me. I gave him my card.
...
The door opened, the Filipino poked my card at me. I didn't take it.
"What you want?"
It was a tight crackling voice, like someone tiptoeing across a lot of eggshells.
"Want to see Mrs. Morny."
"She not at home."
"Didn't you know that when I gave you the card?"
He opened his fingers and let the card flutter to the ground. He grinned, showing me a lot of cut-rate dental work.
"I know when she tell me."
He shut the door in my face, not gently.
excerpt source: The High Window by Raymond Chandler
Raymond Chandler
After a while a tall Filipino with silky black hair came into the lobby and looked around. Dalmas went towards him. The headwaiter looked out through the curtains and nodded at the Filipino.
The Filipino spoke to Dalmas: "This way, boss."
They went down a long quiet corridor. The sound of the dance band died away behind them. Some deserted green-topped tables showed through an open door. The corridor turned into another that was at right angles, and at the end of this one some light came out through a doorway.
The Filipino paused in midstride and made a graceful, complicated movement, at the end of which he had a big, black automatic in his hand. He prodded it politely into Dalmas' ribs.
"Got to frisk you, boss. House rules."
Dalmas stood still and held his arms out from his sides. The Filipino took Dalmas' Colt away from him and dropped it into his pocket. He patted the rest of Dalmas' pockets, stepped back and holstered his own cannon.
Dalmas lowered his arms and let his hat fall on the floor and the little automatic that had been inside the hat peered neatly at the Filipino's belly. The Filipino looked down at it with a shocked grin.
excerpt source: The Simple Art of Murder by Raymond Chandler
oy, the boss man has emerged from the darkened doorway.
the velvet glove straightens up.
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