The Fur Coat
By Julie Strong
Jaqueline envies her roommate, Caroline, who receives luxurious presents from the rich married man she’s having an affair with. However, when Jaqueline steals Caroline’s fur coat for a night on the town she’s mistakenly discovered by a hitman hired by the jilted wife of the cheating husband.
Jaqueline
The fine soft hairs of the fur flattened under Jaqueline’s fingertips. So soft, she mused, as she stroked the expensive garment, drawing shapes and scribbling her name in the glistening fibers. Caroline was in the other room rummaging through her massive shoe collection. Another perk of being the mistress of a wealthy man. The small apartment reeked of Caroline’s perks. Wilting flowers. Designer perfumes. The cloud of Aqua Net cementing down her pricey new hairstyle. It was stifling.
“I’m going out! Don’t wait up,” Jaqueline called through the loft. She paid for half of that apartment. Caroline’s half was paid for by, well, she calls him Dr. Charlie. Jaqueline calls him a sucker. His poor wife. Probably has no idea what’s going on.
“Have you seen my diamonds?”
You mean Dr. Charlie’s wife’s diamonds?
“No!” barked Jaqueline. She’d made it halfway to the door before it called to her. The fur coat. The beautiful silk lined mink fur that Caroline flaunted in the sleaziest clubs in town. Oh, you’re too good for her, baby, Jaqueline thought as she scooped the garment up and hurried out the door.
The night was humid, far too warm for fur. Caroline would’ve probably left the beautiful coat draped on the back of a chair, or in the lady’s bathroom. Yes, it was much better off with Jaqueline. She wrapped the fur tightly around her body, the garment quickly growing more and more sweltering. She’d never have the diamonds, or the shoes, or the spa days. But tonight she wore her stolen pelt like she’d skinned the animal herself.
Neon reflected off the wet streets, and steam sizzled from the pores of the city as Jaqueline marched downtown. The air felt wet, and tasted like garbage, but the swanky air conditioned clubs still called out to the nighttime pleasure seekers. Jaqueline couldn’t get into those clubs. Not by herself. Not with her wardrobe, cheap haircut, and lack of connections. But tonight she was someone else. She was someone with a wealthy lover, who proved his admiration by draping his mistress in sleek supple decadence. No, Caroline did not deserve him.
Lines of people wrapped around graffiti covered cement buildings, like a rattle snake vibrating with excitement. The upper echelons were out tonight, and Jaqueline fit right in as she fell in line behind them. She had no plan. No friends to slip past the bouncer with. Tonight Jaqueline was simply the woman in fur. Shoving her sweating hands into its silk pockets she kept an eye on the entrance of the night club. The large bouncer, bathed in blue light, manned the entrance. Every time he opened the door for a guest a streak of red light flooded the alleyway. Jaqueline stood, watching the crowded street flash red then blue. Red blue. Red blue. The alley flashed like a blinking stoplight for what felt like an hour as Jaqueline’s feet grew more and more sore.
“Come on, just go to the front! I know the bouncer!” A playful voice broke through the chatter of the crowd, catching Jaqueline’s attention.
“Oh, he always lets us in!”
“Wait! I dropped my compact. Hold on, I’m coming.” A group of stylish girls, all dressed very similar to how Caroline dresses, clicked ahead of Jaqueline and the rest of the line in their patent leather pumps. What? They can’t do that. That’s cutting. That’s not fair! Jaqueline stood in her fur coat, watching the alley flash blue red blue, as the group of girls were easily ushered into the nightclub.
Balling her fists in her pocket, Jaqueline made her way to the entrance, past the impatient crowd. It wasn’t fair those girls in their tight dresses and teased hair got to go in front of her. Not tonight.
“Excuse me,” Jaqueline called up to the bouncer, who felt seven feet tall, “I’m next.” The giant man looked down at her, rolling his eyes and pursing his lips in agitation.
“Name?” He spat, rattling a clipboard in Jaqueline’s face.
“Uhhh, Charlie…Charles. Charles Monroe?”
The bouncer glanced down at this list, then back at Jaqueline, squinting his eyes under his heavy brow.
“Not tonight, lady.”
Clyde
Clyde sat in his car, a beat up 1970s Pontiac. Some song about wolves was playing on the radio, which felt appropriate, but Clyde wasn’t paying attention. He looked down at the glossy photo of the woman leaving the apartment. He admitted it wasn’t a great shot. It was blurry, and too far away. But it’s definitely the same feathered hair, same fur coat that he’d been following around the city for weeks. Hungry, Clyde thought as he thumbed through the various photos of her at the laundromat, Chuck’s Diner, leaving Mrs. Monroe’s classy uptown condo. She didn’t even look sorry.
The couple had paraded around the city, like they were proud of their infidelity. It hadn’t taken Mrs. Monroe long to figure out something was up. And it didn’t take Clyde long to prove it. She had turned as red as a brick when he showed her the photos. Later she probably broke a few of those tchotchkes they have sitting around their condo, too. Clyde hadn’t been surprised when she’d asked him what she’d asked him. She wasn’t the first. She was, however, the first to offer him a reward big enough to tempt him. Big enough for him to agree to.
Now he sat in his boiling car with the broken air conditioner, watching the woman fighting a futile battle with some meathead bouncer about to get the fright of his life. If he’s lucky enough to not get caught in the crossfire.
Alright, let’s make this quick then, thought Clyde tossing the photos into the passenger seat. Still hungry. He fished his Beretta 9mm out of his cluttered glove compartment, as he thought about dinner later. Chuck’s sounds good, Clyde decided, glancing at the scattered pile of photographs. The woman was yelling. The bouncer was rubbing his temples. The hitman cracked his neck, rolled his shoulder, and took aim at the fur coat.
Author Bio
Julie Strong is a short fiction writer with a love for a twist, and maybe a touch of the supernatural. Before finding writing, Julie sang and played guitar in a rock band, got her degree in art, wrote and directed short films, and even tried her hand as a YouTube creator. Creativity and storytelling is at the heart of everything Julie does, and she hopes to keep moving forward towards the next adventure.